


What I Saw Through the Looking Glass

by conquerorofheaven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Dreams, Mentor Severus Snape, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophetic Dreams, Ron Weasley Bashing, Seer Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conquerorofheaven/pseuds/conquerorofheaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a secret, something that he never told anyone, even his former best friends.  Sometimes he knows things.  He doesn't know how, it's just one more thing that makes him a freak, but what he sees <em>always</em> comes true.</p><p>Now that the Tri-Wizard Tournament has come to Hogwarts Harry might have no choice but to use his strange gift if he wants to make it out alive.  Too bad Snape won't leave him alone, he's even started getting suspicious!</p><p>It's getting hard to tell what's real and what's not, but why does Harry get the feeling that he shouldn't be scared of the things he sees, of the <em>person</em> he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and welcome to another Harry Potter fic. This is one I've been writing for a while now, but I only recently worked out some of the details. If you haven't already noticed, Harry is a seer in this fic... kind of, but I will leave the details for later.
> 
> As for the pairings, I haven't decided if I want the relationship between Harry and Voldemort to be gen or not. It kind of depends on where the story goes, but I'm leaning towards slash.
> 
> Anyways, please comment with your opinions and suggestions. It always helps!

Harry didn’t want to be here. His apprehension coiled in his stomach and his instincts blared, begging him to run as far away as possible. He did not want to be here, especially not _now_.

It was coming. He could feel it. He had been subjected to the warning all week, but he hadn’t _listened_.

“Harry Potter,” Dumbledore’s voice bellowed throughout the shocked dining hall. Their shock didn’t last long and immediately devolved into whispers and scornful looks of derision.

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat. His vision blurred as the tenseness of his body rocketed up to unhealthy levels and he struggled not to faint.

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore yelled his name once more. This time louder and more piercing; Harry flinched at the sound.

He had dreaded this moment, the moment when he would finally have to raise his head and look at the faces of his friends—correction, former friends, by the look of it. They were fickle, Ron in particular seemed to enjoy the quick changes of allegiance that the school was prone to and Hermione trusted the words of authority figures more than his own.

Harry stood from the Gryffindor table and proceeded forwards in a walk of shame until he stood before his aged Professor. Even Dumbledore seemed to carry a look of profound disappointment as his dull blue eyes met Harry’s. It broke his final vestiges of hope, his last chance of being believed was lost with that look.

Following Dumbledore’s quick stride as he struggled to keep himself together, Harry missed the looks of contemplation that a few faces in the crowd of the hall shared. The majority may not have believed him, but someone did.

***** 

“But how did this happen? You told us that age line was foolproof Albus! How, exactly, does a 14 year old boy outsmart the greatest wizard of our time?”

Sarcastic, stinging remarks flew about the room. Some were aimed at the Headmaster, who maintained an uncharacteristically stern expression during the proceedings. Some were aimed at Hogwarts in general, for allowing the illustrious Tri-Wizard Tournament to be tainted with cheats for the first time in centuries. Eventually, all of the talk came back to Harry, who was desperately trying to make himself appear as small as possible in the hopes that he would be forgotten.

“Well what happens now? His name came out of the cup, but should he even be allowed compete?”

Harry felt his futile hopes rise with that question. Should he be allowed to compete? He was only 14 after all, maybe they would let him stay out of the life threatening competition made for much better wizards than he.

“It doesn’t matter, the moment his name came out of the cup he was bound by wizarding contract to participate. He must enter the competition or risk losing his magic.”

And with that Harry felt his barely rising spirits fall once more.

It was decided then. He had to compete. Harry had felt that bad feeling when he entered school this year, it was even worse than the previous years. He had known that the world was developing some new and creative way to try and end his life once again, but he had ignored the feeling. His instincts had never steered him wrong before, but he had dismissed them out of sheer stubborn immaturity and now he was closer to death than ever before.

Harry clenched his fists. His scrawny diminutive figure was drawing a lot of curious looks from the other competitors. The heavy set Viktor and the beautiful Fleur eyed him with equal parts curiosity and suspicion, while Cedric appeared to be avoiding looking at Harry at all.

The adults in the room were the same as always—incompetent, untrustworthy, suspicious in their blatant assumptions of his character. It was like the Dursleys all over again; already these people had him pegged as a delinquent cheater, a _troublemaker_.

Harry did what he always did. He curled his body in on itself and tried to block out the rest of the world, reveling in the peaceful silence that permeated his own mind. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone. If no one would believe in him, then he wouldn’t believe in anyone else.

An insistent voice was calling him back from the void. Harry tried batting it away, but it kept coming back.

“Harry, Harry, are you okay?” Dumbledore looked down upon the boy with questioning eyes finally pulling him from his daydream.

“I’m fine Professor. May I go now?” Harry voice was quiet and dismissive, as though he had already ended the conversation and was merely humoring the adults in the room.

“Just a moment, my boy. I know this is hard for you but I must ask, did you put your name in the cup?”

With that question Harry lost all pretense of a scared little boy. He shed the bad posture and hunched expression to stare directly into the eyes of everyone watching.

“No,” he said firmly. “No, I did not. I have no interest in the tournament. Now if that is all I would like to go to bed now. I’ve been given much to think about.” Harry tone allowed for no argument, but just in case he turned away and began walking towards the door, cutting off any errant protest.

***** 

Severus watched in disgusted silence as the boy exited the room. He was just as arrogant as ever. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that the boy lacked the ability to fool Albus’ age line, then he would have no trouble believing that the little attention seeking twit had done just that.

As it was, either Potter found a seventh year foolish enough to put his name in the cup for him or there was another culprit entirely. 

The irate potions Master dismissed himself from the room smoothly striding back to his room in the dungeons.

Was it too much to ask for a quiet year, free of incident? He had been opposed to the reinstatement of the tournament. It was a barbaric practice, meant for people of a much greater caliber than the current participants. Unfortunately, despite his prayers, the Potter spawn was once again in mortal danger.

Severus slammed the door to his private potions lab. Merlin help anyone who dared to disturb him tonight. He began to brew, something easy that he could literally brew with his eyes closed, because it was the only way he knew to sort out his thoughts.

Potter had been jittery in the days preceding the announcement. He was even more clumsy than usual and that had only escalated until his name had finally flown from the cup. Severus would say he was nervous about something, but that could be easily explained as Potter’s exceptional set of instincts.

‘Good instincts’ was very misleading, and had been used as the boy’s explanation more than once. Everyone accepted it and moved on, but not Severus. No, Severus was far more mistrusting of the boy’s word, the way he was always so eager to change the subject whenever these supposed ‘instincts’ were brought up.

There were many things about the situation that made him suspicious, not the least of which was the Dark Mark adorning his arm which had begun to darken conspicuously, _terrifyingly_.

The Dark Lord was close to returning.

That fact alone had Severus trembling as he stirred the now vibrant orange mixture.

Severus usually prided himself on his ability to plan for all possibilities, but he had not planned for the return of the Dark Lord, simply because it was a possibility that he could not be willing to acknowledge. 

For to acknowledge his return was to remember the vow he had sworn all those years ago when the Mark was first burned into his forearm. 

He had no doubt that his Lord would call him when he returned, and when that happened Severus would have much to answer for.

***** 

Harry was flying. But it was not a relaxing, leisurely flight, instead he moved at a break neck speed desperately trying to outmaneuver his assailant.

He flew faster than he had ever gone before, ignoring the way the cold air whipped at his bare skin. The flames of hell were at his heels and Harry could not afford to get caught.

Harry's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a loud breath of air as he always did when he awoke from one of his dreams. He cast a quick Tempus which revealed that it was only 3 am, far too early to begin getting ready.

He turned his thoughts back to the dream. This one had been strangely vivid, clearer than they usually were. Everything seemed to be different ever since his name had come out of that infernal cup.

Ron was jealous, of course. Harry shouldn’t be surprised anymore when Ron up and ditches him in favor of public opinion. He had always been… biased.

What had really hurt was Hermione’s reaction. The way she had subtly dismissed him, cutting him off from her entirely. Any attempts to explain were met with an immovable wall.

It burned, sharp and stinging in his chest. He could ignore the looks, the stares, the teasing, even the pranks, but Hermione had promised, sworn to be with him no matter what. And unlike with Ron, Harry had actually believed her.

No more.

Harry buried his emotions, drowned them in the deep layers of void within his own mind. He had begun spending a lot of time in there, alongside his gift, if you could call it that.

Harry’s mind was strange. It was quiet and peaceful, but it wasn’t quite empty. 

There were two doors in the deepest recesses of his mind. One was gold and shiny, ornately decorated, every inch exuded purity of the highest measure, lighting up Harry’s void with its splendor. He had to peek through that one every so often otherwise it would begin to open on its own, flooding Harry’s mind with a blinding light and confusing images.

He didn’t like opening it, even when he was little he avoided it whenever possible. It showed him things, things he wasn’t supposed to see. The Dursleys would always stop what they were doing whenever he talked about what he saw. They would stand in dumbfounded silence before rage replaced their confusion and he was tossed into his cupboard for his troubles.

He had learned to keep the things he saw to himself. Even when he came to Hogwarts and met Ron and Hermione, that was the one thing he never told them, even more so after second year. He just told them he had good instincts.

After all, no one liked a freak.

That’s what he was though, a freak. No one else could see the strange things Harry saw when he was caught up in that strange door. No one else knew things that hadn’t happened yet.

Harry had known about the cup. He had known for _days_ that something would happen. Ignoring what he saw was what got him into this mess, so Harry decided not to do it again. If his freak gift could help him survive, then he would use it and everyone else could just go to hell.

The other door was very different from the first. It was dark and frayed, old and foreboding; it was heavy set, looking like it was meant to keep things out despite its lack of a lock. The very sight of it gave Harry chills. Unlike the other, Harry _actively_ avoided this door. Once, just after he had arrived at Hogwarts, Harry had gotten brave and decided to try touching it. After all if magic was real, then maybe the door had something to do with his magic.

It had pulled him. The inky darkness had peeled off and grabbed his arm, crawling higher and higher until it constricted his entire body. Harry had screamed inside his mind, desperately struggling to get away as the door knob rattled ominously, as though something was on the other side.

Harry couldn’t remember how he had escaped, but it was not something he wanted to try again.

He sat inside his void, upon nothing, merely enjoying the silence. The dark door had been growing questioning, lately. It was terrifying to imagine, but Harry could always sense a general vibe about the door. Usually it was an endless well of rage and hatred that only made Harry want to avoid the door even more, but now it was different. There was more… variety. 

The door was beginning to feel probing, like it was trying to grasp at Harry but couldn’t quite get close enough. It was drifting about without direction, searching for something Harry couldn’t identify, but somehow knew he did not want to give.

It was strange though, the gold door was overwhelming. So strong in its presence that Harry had to be careful not to get lost in its glow, but the dark door was enticing. The shadows around it coiled about like serpents, drawing him closer with an endlessly seductive dance, daring him to take. Just. One. Look.

Harry had to turn away. Ignore them as best he could. He would use the gold door to keep himself alive, but the dark one still scared him.

His body turned in his bed, but his eyes remained open, unseeing, while Harry remained inside the comfort of his own mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2. Please enjoy.

Potions class was the same as usual. The almighty wisdom of Dumbledore had deigned it necessary to pair Gryffindor and Slytherin, the two most volatile houses, together in arguably the most dangerous class.

It had been a week since the cup had named Harry a ‘champion’ and things had not improved since then.

Most of the Gryffindors were ignoring him, and that was just fine with Harry, but some of them, led by none other than Ronald Weasley, felt the need to make his life miserable. Harry had gotten tired of avoiding their childish pranks. They were angry at him for some reason, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

The Slytherins were much more subtle about their dislike, as usual. They just stared at him, studying him with scrutinizing eyes. Even Malfoy had taken a break from his usual ridicule in favor of watching him.

Harry didn’t like people watching him. It made him afraid they might notice something.

“S-sorry about this Harry.”

Harry turned his head. Neville had just spoken, but he wasn’t sure what he had missed.

“Sorry Neville, I think I zoned out for a minute. What were you saying?”

“No, n-nothing. It’s just—I was apologizing in advance for your potions grade. I’m sorry you have to be partnered with me. I’m rubbish at potions.” The last part was spoken with a downturned expression. It looked like Neville was really torn up about this.

“No you’re not Neville. You do well in Herbology, so you must know all the ingredients. The only reason you have problems is because Snape likes to lurk behind you. I know how distracting that greasy bat can be, so there’s no need to apologize.” 

Neville let out a nervous laugh at Harry’s term for Professor Snape. His eyes darted back and forth fearfully as though he expected the Professor would suddenly appear behind them with vitriolic words ready to sear their young self-esteems. It would be funny if it weren’t entirely possible.

Luckily, Snape was not there, instead he was on the other side of the room expressing his vast disbelief at the lengths of Ron’s incompetence. Every other word was punctuated with disgusted gestures at the cauldron in question, which was now bubbling a dangerously acidic green.

“How about this Neville,” Harry took the opportunity to reassure the boy. Neville was the only Gryffindor that remained completely unchanged even after the cup debacle, and for that Harry decided to return the favor. “We’ll probably be paired up for the rest of the year, so how about you let me deal with Snape and you just focus on the potion.”

Neville halted his steady chops of the Wormwood to stare at Harry as though he were Santa Claus. Harry was somewhat angry that Neville was desperate enough to be so easily impressed by his words. Harry vowed then and there to help out Neville whenever he could.

*****

Meanwhile, Severus was prowling the aisles, searching out errors with all the precision of a bird of prey. His hooked nose and billowing cape only served to further enhance this effect, gaining him the title of ‘Dungeon Bat.’

Honestly, Severus was okay with his reputation as the most terrifying Professor within Hogwarts. If it encouraged the otherwise incompetent children to behave themselves when dealing with highly volatile substances, then he would take it.

Severus took pride in his Potions Mastery, and while teaching was never his first choice, he would never slack off in his lessons. Unfortunately, students like _Weasley_ constantly tested his patience with their blatant and occasionally impressive levels of ineptitude.

He was currently trying to combat yet another potions disaster as Weasley’s concoction began to melt through the cauldron.

Another thing Severus prided himself on, was his ability to be constantly aware of what was happening within his classroom at all times. So when Potter and Longbottom made their deal, he heard every word they said.

On some level he wanted to storm over there just to see exactly how Potter planned to ‘deal’ with him, but he refrained using the same rigid self-control that had saved his life countless times.

Even as he vanished Weasley’s pathetic excuse for a Calming Draught he was plagued by certain thoughts.

That deal he made was more Slytherin than Gryffindor. He wondered if Potter even realized that as he made it. When Severus had paired Longbottom with Potter he had been secretly hoping that Potter would somehow curb some of Longbottom’s more destructive tendencies and it appeared to have worked brilliantly. Better than he could have hoped.

The entire situation was only adding to Severus’ suspicion that Potter was hiding much of himself from the general public and possibly even his friends. The normally impulsive and frankly foolish child that ended up in all sorts of life threatening scenarios despite his genuine efforts to the contrary, could never have made such a deal.

Severus didn’t want to give the boy too much credit, of course. It was also possible that the deal was made out of nothing more than childish sentiment. But whatever change was happening in the child was not going unnoticed by his Slytherins.

Their scrutiny had already begun to make Potter uneasy. Severus had to hold back a smirk when the boy inevitably started squirming under their gazes.

“Excuse me Professor,” Severus turned to eye down the foolish child that had thoughtlessly decided to interrupt this class.

“Exactly what deluded you into believing that it was _acceptable_ to interrupt my class?” Severus spoke in his usual drawling tone that had the intended effect of cowing the child as he made his stuttering excuses.

“S-sir, they want Harry for the Weighing of the Wands.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, spinning dramatically so that he was now facing Potter.

“Go,” he barked “and make it quick.” Severus watched as the Potter boy stood from his seat stiffly and stumbled out of the room. Only once he was gone did he snarl orders at the gawking children to get back to work.

*****

The Weighing of the Wands… Harry had no idea what it was, but it was clear even as he walked into the room that no one planned on explaining.

“This way Harry, we just need to check your wand to make sure it’s in tip top shape. After all, a wand is a wizard’s greatest weapon.” Harry shied away from the overly exuberant expressions of Ludo Bagman.

All the others had arrived before him. Dumbledore stood off to the side with his usual cheer while the other champions had their wands inspected by Ollivander. Harry hadn’t seen the strange old man since the day he got his wand, but judging from his appearance he was still the same as always.

“Mr. Krum, 10 ¼ inch, hornbeam, and a dragon heartstring core. Very stubborn wand, one of Gregorovitch’s?”

“Yes sir, my entire family uses Gregorovitch’s wands.”

“Yes, yes, he is an interesting wandmaker isn’t he?”

Harry watched as Ollivander proceeded to study the Beauxbaton champion’s wand. She was very beautiful, Harry thought absently, and rumored to be a quarter Veela. He had looked up what a Veela was because Hermione wasn’t there to tell him, and found out that they were a type of magical creature with the ability to enthrall men. But judging by Fleur’s stiff smile on those occasions, Harry wondered if the thrall was something she had any control over.

The process with Cedric’s wand was much the same until finally it was his turn.

“And finally Mr. Potter,” Harry snapped out of his thoughts and stepped forwards at the sound of his name being called. Ollivander took his wand and handled it with the utmost care, even more delicately than he had with the other two.

“Yes, 11 inches, holly and Phoenix feather, a very unusual wand for a very unusual boy.” Harry was having the terrible sensation that Ollivander knew much more than he was letting on. He resisted the urge to shiver as the old man studied him closely with large curious eyes hinted with a touch of pity that made Harry cringe.

As soon as his wand was handed back Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever it was that Ollivander had noticed it looked like he was at least willing to keep it a secret for the time being, something for which Harry was immensely grateful.

“Good, now that we’ve finished with that, it’s time to meet the champions!” A horribly shrill voice cried out over the bustle of Headmasters, clearing the way as a weirdly bug-like woman made her way to the champions.

“How about a picture, one of all the champions. For the Prophet of course, we must tease our readers.” That voice grated on Harry’s nerves even as the woman’s stark red talons dug into his shoulders and rearranged him amongst Cedric, Victor, and Fleur.

Harry took a moment to really look at the irritating woman. Everything about her was fake, Harry noted. Her face was liberally covered in gaudy make-up which emphasized her worst qualities, her hair was dyed an awful shade of yellow which honestly made him thankful for Malfoy’s restraint, and finally she wore the most obnoxious pair of faux-glasses that Harry had ever seen.

The combined effect made Harry shudder in revulsion as dozens of awkward photos were taken.

“Just a few questions for Mr. Potter, our youngest champion.” The harpy preened as though she had made some sort of witty comment. “How does it feel to be going against three other champions, all of which are much older and more skilled than you?”

Harry wondered at the question. He really wondered what this woman expected him to say. If Ron was any indication, she was hoping for some sort of cocky response, bravado that properly depicted him as the arrogant Boy Savior that everyone seemed to think he was.

Instead, Harry remained stubbornly silent, hoping that his glare was enough of a response.

“Oh, oh, shy then. Don’t worry Harry there should be no secrets between us.” The horrible woman wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “How about this then, which one of the other champions are you most wary of? The Veela is pretty, but Krum and Diggory are quite strapping as well.”

Harry almost gaped when he heard the excited squeal of the woman as she proceeded to dig her fake nails into his shoulder and gesture in the direction of the other champions.

This needed to end now. There was no way he was going to give an interview to this insect. He needed to get out of here now.

“Skeeter, I need to speak with the boy.”

Rescue arrives! Harry almost cheered, but Moody was unnerving in his own way. He felt fake, but in a very different way than the bug woman, like was someone else wearing a Moody suit, which was terrifying in and of itself. He hobbled over on his single leg and carefully extricated Harry’s person from the harpy’s clutches and led him over to the other side of the room.

Some part of Harry was hoping that Dumbledore had sent the creepy Professor, but that thought was immediately crushed into dust when he saw the old Headmaster conversing quite obliviously with the other adults. Meanwhile, Harry could only shift uncomfortably as the full focus of Moody’s magic eye bore down on him.

“Something’s going on here, boy, something big. I’ve spoken to Albus about it but at this point there’s nothing either of us can do.” Harry listened attentively to the new Defense Professor, the only Professor in the entire school that seemed to be genuinely concerned for his wellbeing.

“There must be something we can do, sir. I’m completely out of my league in this. I don’t even want money or eternal glory!” Harry wrinkled his nose at that last one. What a load of bullocks it was, did anyone even remember the name of the last winner? Eternal glory his arse.

“I know boy,” Moody lowered his voice and leaned down so they were face to horrifically scarred face. “This competition’s a tough one. I don’t even know why they’re reinstating now of all times. The whole thing smells like a plot to me.”

Harry’s eyes widened. A plot, the entire tournament could just be another elaborate scheme to get him killed. As arrogant as the thought was Harry couldn’t dismiss it entirely, especially because of the constant tingle he had been getting ever since the school year had started.

A feeling that still hadn’t gone away.

“I don’t—I’m not sure what to do, sir. I’ve been studying as best as I can. I taught myself a few flame protection spells, but I don’t think that will be enough.”

Harry watched as Moody’s eye sharpened at the end of his statement. He bit his tongue, forcing himself to remain nonchalant.

 _‘Damnit, idiot, why did you have to mention the fire? Now he’s suspicious!’_ Harry continued to admonish himself even as Moody gave what was supposed to be a comforting pat on the back. Like always, Harry subtly flinched away from it.

“That’s alright boy, you just keep on preparing. You can never know enough spells. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Harry grinned despite his aching ears, enjoying the antics of his strange Professor.

“And visit ol’ Hagrid when you get the chance, the lug’s been asking about you.”

*****

Severus had just discovered what the first task would be. Dragons, bloody dragons!

Potter must be cursed to end up in such a situation. If he actually put his name in the cup, then he was an idiot beyond hope of redemption; if someone else put his name in, then the boy truly had the most atrocious luck Severus had ever seen.

He was only recently informed of what the first task would be so that he could begin preparing potions for the many injuries that would certainly occur. Essentially they had told him to prepare for plenty of magical burns and blunt force trauma.

Severus barked a little harsher at the scurrying children in his classroom. It was once again Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years and he was forced to watch as _that child_ went about his day, completely unaware of the dangers ahead.

It was at moments like these that Severus truly hated Dumbledore’s manipulations. He knew better than anyone that the old man could have gotten Potter out of competing. As an underage student, his magical guardian had the right to nullify any and all contracts incurred on his behalf. Using the cup as an excuse to make the boy compete was as farcical as it was cruel and Dumbledore was the man behind the curtain.

He could only suspect that the old man was playing a larger game than he let on. He had probably noticed Severus’ conspicuously darkening tattoo and connected the dots, leaving the Potter to run through the scenario he had carefully created.

This damned tournament would either end with Potter’s death or the Dark Lord’s return.

Severus growled under his breath and snarled out a few more insults to the unsuspecting children.

“Longbottom! Is that a potion you’re making or another calamity brewing under your incapable and disaster prone hands? Perhaps you should leave now and spare us your failure.” It was only once the words had left his mouth that he realized what he was doing. The Longbottom boy began shaking, his hands unsteadily holding the volatile scarab wings above a potion in its most delicate stage.

Seconds away from catastrophe, Potter stepped in, casually placing a single steady hand over Neville’s trembling wrist, carefully pulling it back before anything could happen.

“I don’t believe your yelling is improving anything… sir.” Potter spoke up, coming frighteningly close to his own usual drawling tone. Severus had to stop himself from flinching when he saw those angry green eyes. _‘Just like hers… ‘_ he banished his guilt in favor of analyzing the situation.

They were now under the full attention of the entire class. The Slytherins especially were making a point of observing the confrontation, subtly of course. Severus didn’t get a chance to be proud of his snakes because apparently the Potter spawn wasn’t finished.

“In fact, I think every potion in this class could be improved with your silence… sir.” Severus almost wanted to applaud the boy for his choice of words. He could see the remark went over several of the Gryffindors’ heads, most notably Weasley’s. In the end though, he had a reputation to maintain and he couldn’t be nearly as effective a spy or protector if people thought he actually _cared_ for the boy.

“Mr. Potter, 30 points from Gryffindor for questioning a Professor and a week of detention starting tonight. Do not be late.” And with that he turned and swept back to the front of the classroom before the child could respond and further damn himself. With the life-threatening tournament coming up, Severus had no problem assigning the boy detention for the next month; at least while he was with him, Severus could be sure the child wasn’t off doing something foolish enough to get himself killed, as per usual.

“There will be no further discussion. Finish your potions, place them on my desk and get out of my classroom.” Amusing as the confrontation was, he still had dozens of potions to brew for that blasted tournament and Severus had reached the end of his patience.

*****

Harry grumbled petulantly as he made his way to the dungeons. The rest of his classes had passed unbearably slowly, Neville being the only Gryffindor he could even remotely tolerate. Dinner in the Great Hall had been a trial as well. He had briefly contemplated the benefits of sitting at another House’s table, unfortunately he had received several dirty glares from the Hufflepuffs. _The Hufflepuffs_.

The peacemakers of the school hated him because he had inadvertently taken the spotlight away from their own Cedric Diggory, the champion from their House.

Harry took a few calming breaths before he knocked on the door of the feared Potions Master. It was odd though, in that last class Snape had seemed a little more bad-tempered than usual. Normally, even he wouldn’t have torn into Neville that viciously.

“Enter,” he pushed the door open, silently dreading the menial tasks Snape would surely find for him.

“Mr. Potter, how nice of you to arrive on time for once.” Harry resisted commenting on the statement and instead waited silently for the man to assign him work. Whatever it was he would be doing, Harry would not encourage Snape to elongate his punishment.

The dour man raised a single eyebrow at Harry’s lack of reaction, somehow conveying that he knew exactly what the boy was doing and was not at all impressed.

“If you are so eager begin your punishment then I shall not delay you any further. You will be scrubbing the first year cauldrons, no magic, the cleaning supplies are in the closet.” Harry nodded and began without a word.

The work was tedious, mind-numbingly repetitive, and likely could be considered torture in a court of law, but Harry did it. All the while he repressed flashbacks of his time at the Dursleys, doing his best to separate the two events as much as he could. The last thing he wanted was to start comparing Hogwarts to Privet Drive.

Cleaning, as difficult as it was in this circumstance, was something Harry could do without much thought. So, instead of allowing his mind to wander aimlessly, Harry experimented with his void, letting his mind enter it while trying to make himself go into a sort of trance.

Within his void he did his best to ignore the way the black door was pulsating, steady and slow, like the beat of a heart. He focused on enjoying the nothingness of his void, the serenity of the silence even as his body was occupied with scraping the remains of some first year’s potion off the bottom of a cauldron with a tiny brush.

Eventually, Harry did indeed go into a sort of trance, speeding up his work exponentially. Unfortunately this did not escape the notice of Severus Snape, who was currently paying close attention to boy.

Harry kept scrubbing at a steady rhythm, unconsciously mimicking the tempo of the continuously droning pulses of the black door. Floating inside his void he did not notice the way the black door drifted, ever so slowly making its way towards him, the way it almost hesitated, before suddenly grabbing him with thick, dark tendrils.

The Harry inside his mind began thrashing, frantically trying to escape the tenacious grip, silently praying that the door would not open. On the outside Harry froze, cauldron still gripped tightly in his arms, but eyes staring blankly at the floor, drawing Snape’s attention.

Inside the void Harry had begun screaming, “No! Let me go! Please, I don’t want to see, I don’t want to see, _I don’t want to see_. Please stop! _Please!_ ” He felt the emotions trickling out the now cracked open door; it was confusion turned rage turned morbid curiosity.

He saw strange flashes, impressions of something he couldn’t even begin to identify, as the emotions that weren’t his own slowly began to overtake him.

_‘Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here? What happened?’_

“Potter. Potter!”

The cauldron fell to the floor with a loud clatter and Harry took a desperate gasp of air, vision suddenly returning to his eyes.

“Y-yes—yes Professor?” Snape gave an unimpressed look at Harry’s attempts at nonchalance as he hastily grabbed the fallen cauldron and placed on a desk.

“Asleep on the job, Potter? I’ll just have to make tomorrow’s detention more _engrossing_. Now get out of my office.” Snape sneered his usual sneer, not a hint in his expression that he had any idea what Harry had just been through, much to the boy’s relief.

Unbeknownst to him, even as Harry moved to leave the office Snape kept his gaze trained on him, dark eyes boring into his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wins the award for 3rd darkest fic ever written by me. The fics that win 1st and 2nd haven't been posted yet, but I wonder if I should be worried that I've been writing such depressing stuff.
> 
> Please tell me what you think. More angst? Less? I need criticism to improve!


	3. Chapter 3

Harry made his way through the Forbidden Forest, the small light of a Lumos and a crudely drawn map his only navigation tools. There were shadows, long and sharp. They reminded him too much of what happened during his detention with Snape and he had to stop himself from flinching every time they shifted under the moonlight.

“Right ‘ere Ms. Maxime. Been meanin’ to show ye’ this.” Harry took note of Hagrid’s unusually subdued voice and came to the conclusion that none of them were supposed to be here. 

He ducked behind a bush and flicked off the light spell, carefully concealed beneath his invisibility cloak. Hagrid had only told him that whatever was hidden in the forest would be of interest to him, or at least, that’s what Harry had deciphered from the note he’d left. He peered out into the clearing, eyes widening with what he saw.

The screeching roar was the first thing he noticed, then it was the fire that lit up the clearing as several people scrambled about the creature’s feet, trying to subdue it.

“Dragons. That’s what the first task is, dragons?” Harry asked, more than a little incredulous. Apparently, he was right to study fire protection spells, but there was a very big difference between regular fire and the magical fire that dragons produce.

“Arn’t they beautiful.” Hagrid remarked to Maxime. Harry had long since gotten over Hagrid’s tendency to vastly underestimate the dangers of magical creatures. Between Fluffy and Aragog, he had just decided that the half giant was better left alone to enjoy his appreciation of wild magical creatures, because any interference was more likely to end in personal injury rather than breaking the Groundskeeper’s habit of taking in strays.

That’s when Harry noticed that he, Hagrid and Maxime weren’t the only people watching the clearing. A couple dozen meters away was Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, who was obviously also trying to sneak a look at the creatures.

Harry scowled beneath his cloak. Despite Hagrid’s best intentions there was no doubt in his mind that both the Beauxbaton and Dumstrang champions would soon find out what was in store for the first task. Not that he minded all that much, dragons were an absolutely ridiculous obstacle and it was only the first task!

If the tournament went as planned and everyone remained ignorant of the upcoming threat, chances are at least one of the four champions would have died, probably Harry. Now they had a shot at survival. But—Cedric!

Harry almost forgot about the true Hogwarts champion. He wasn’t here, and there was no way Dumbledore would inform the Hufflepuff about the dragons he would be facing in less than a month's time, so that left Harry himself.

Should he tell Cedric?

The obvious answer was yes, because despite his feelings of betrayal he didn’t want anyone to die, and Cedric hadn’t really participated in any of the public humiliation everyone else seemed to be having so much fun with.

Even more than that, Harry was getting a certain vibe from Cedric, one that almost made him tear up when he saw the teen.

It was like he was looking at a dead man walking.

Harry shook his head, trying to banish the thought. If he could do something, then he would. If no one else would bother to give Cedric enough a head’s up to save his life, then he would do it.

He only hoped the boy believed him.

*****

Hermione was conflicted. She was currently mulling over the nature of authority and her role in the social structure. Any other child her age would not be contemplating such heavy topics while eating dinner, but Hermione was not any other child and after a very long time she had finally begun to accept that.

She dipped her spoon into a pile of mashed potatoes half-heartedly, trying to avoid looking at the disaster that was Ron eating.

Watching Ron eat was like watching a lion tear into a zebra, only lacking the deadly grace, or any grace at all really. All that was left was the sort of morbid curiosity that one felt when watching a snuff film.

“Look at him, Potter’s gone and defected to the good for nothing Hufflepuffs.” He said with his mouth full of food.

“Ronald!” She exclaimed, because really Hermione was getting tired of the red head’s unthinking generalizations. There wasn’t anything wrong with the Hufflepuffs and if Harry wanted to sit there then it was really none of their business.

“But he has! And look, they hate him as much as we do!” Hermione frowned at that. Hate was a strong word, disappointed was more like it. While Ron was obviously jealous, she felt betrayed, angry that Harry would do such a thing, but also hurt that he hadn’t even bother to tell her beforehand.

Harry had tried speaking to her after the big reveal, but Hermione wasn’t feeling any sort of accommodating to that desire. 

Somewhere inside of her a small voice had whispered that Harry was her first friend, before even Ron or Ginny, it was Harry that had run after her, wanting to warn the crying muggleborn girl about the troll loose in the castle. It was Harry that had risked life and limb to save her on more than one occasion, so surely at the very least he deserved a chance to explain himself?

Hermione had ruthlessly squashed that voice, mildly annoyed by the guilt and longing she felt when she saw Harry conversing with Cedric Diggory.

“What do you think their talking about ‘Mione?” This time it was Ginny speaking, as Ron was much too busy trying to glare Harry into submission to notice Hermione’s growing frustration with him.

“I don’t know Ginny, but I really don’t think it’s any business of ours.” Ginny fidgeted awkwardly, stealing a few shy glances towards the Boy-Who-Lived, who she obviously liked.

“It’s just—I’ve been seeing him in the library a lot lately. In the restricted section especially, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harry studying that much.”

As true as the observation was, Hermione had made her own hypothesis on Harry’s sudden desire to read.

“He probably entered his name in the cup as a joke thinking he'd never actually get chosen, and is only now realizing that the Tournament is a serious event with very real dangers.”

“Hermione! You know Harry isn’t the type to make jokes like that!” Hermione huffed at her friend’s defensive tone. “Besides, his name was entered under a fourth school. Harry couldn’t have known to do that.”

That was new information, and Hermione found her interest being piqued in spite of herself.

“What do you mean?” Ginny bit her lip, leaning in to lower her voice, giving the impression that what she had to say wasn’t for anyone else’s ears.

“I’ve been writing to my dad. He's been asking around about the enchantments of the cup. He said that the cup is designed to choose the most suitable contestant from each school, but Harry’s name was entered under a fourth school that doesn’t exist. Someone had to have used a really advanced Confundus on the cup to ensure that Harry’s name came out.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she gave the red head a curt nod before turning back to her meal.

The Confundus charm was a sixth year spell that she knew for a fact Harry couldn’t do, but more importantly whoever cast it had to have been skilled enough to fool the Tri-Wizard Cup, which, from what she’d heard, was an ancient and powerful artifact.

Altogether, those facts led her to the conclusion that Harry couldn’t have been the one to put his name in the cup, but rather, it was someone both dangerous and powerful who had it out for her friend.

‘ _Former friend,_ ’ she thought regretfully. Hermione squeezed the fork in her hand, lowering her head. She had been so caught up in the idea that Harry had betrayed her that she hadn’t even considered that through her actions, she had betrayed him. Last year she had sworn to stay by his side, to stick with him no matter the circumstances and she had broken that oath so easily.

She suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.

Hermione took one final glance at the Hufflepuff table and saw Harry leaving the Great Hall with Cedric. Ron’s face had turned an ugly tomato color and Ginny was doing her best to ignore his rants.

Meanwhile, Hermione was left with a hollowing thought.

A mended fence will never be as strong as it was.

*****

Severus eyed the Potter spawn suspiciously. He had waved off the incident during their first detention as another one of his attention seeking antics, but his mind kept returning to that scene.

Despite what Potter thought, Severus had actually been calling his name for almost 20 minutes. He had actually been preparing to drag the child to the Healing Wing when he had suddenly and miraculously snapped out of whatever trance he had been in.

Today the boy was quiet as well. It seemed he had finally developed some sense and decided to spend his detentions as unobtrusively as possible, but Severus didn’t trust it. There was something more going on and he intended to figure it out.

“Today you will not be scrubbing cauldrons. Instead you will be preparing certain ingredients.” Severus eyed the boy’s confusion like a shark scenting blood in the water. He wondered if the boy knew just how vulnerable he had allowed himself to look.

“You will begin by grinding the Nettle leaves, then the Hellebore, followed by Jewelweed, Cowbane, and Belladona.” 

Severus smirked challengingly and judging by Potter’s now thunderous expression he had caught onto the fact that every single one of those plants were highly poisonous if ingested. Obviously he wouldn’t force the boy to eat them, but prolonged exposure to the plants and their fumes had the unfortunate side effect of skin and eye irritation, persistent cough, nausea, and eventually a violent outbreak of painful rashes.

“I would hurry Potter.” And with that final remark he left the boy to his work, taking extra care to keep him within his sights at all times. If anything was going to happen tonight, Severus would be the first one to know about it.

Two hours later and Severus was seeing the results of his scheme. The boy was absolutely miserable. That was to be expected.

What was unexpected was Potter’s complete lack of anger, concealed or otherwise. And Severus knew when one was concealing their anger, he’d had more than enough experience to know the signs of one on the verge of a meltdown and this was not it.

Potter had barely looked away since he had begun. About an hour ago his body had begun moving robotically, much like it had during the previous incident. Even through obvious pain and exhaustion the boy remained stoic. If Severus didn’t know any better he would say that Potter was meditating, compartmentalizing his pain in such a way that allowed him to perform with maximum efficiency.

Even the passing thought made him scowl. The idea that Harry Potter had even an ounce of skill in the field of Occlumency irritated him. Regardless, he would not discover the boy’s secrets as long as he remained so passive, thus Severus decided to use one of the child’s more obvious weaknesses.

His temper.

“Potter!” Unlike last time, the boy snapped to attention almost immediately, his face impassive and removed of all expression.

“I see you are enjoying the task I set for you. Certainly it is more riveting than your previous detention.” Boy’s expression was blank, devoid of emotion, almost unnaturally so.

Despite his own stubbornness, never let it be said that Severus Snape did not acknowledge the obvious. He knew better than anyone the signs of active Occlumency and regardless of any disbelief, that’s what he was seeing.

“Anything you’d like to add, boy? I’m sure someone like you who’s never worked a day in his life would have plenty to complain about the current circumstances.”

He saw the boy’s body tighten. ‘ _New to Occlumency, then,_ ’ Severus concluded. If the boy was riled up that easily then whatever Occlumency shields he had managed to erect were still fairly weak.

“Never got your hands dirty when your relatives were busy fawning over you, Potter? That’s fine. I shall endeavor teach you some humility. Perhaps then you will cease your foolish antics.”

“ _That’s enough Severus. _” His thoughts stuttered to a halt.__

__It wasn’t what the boy had said or even the use of his first name. It was the way he said it. That voice, deep and dulcet, and so clearly not the boy’s own fell from Potter’s mouth as though it was made to be there._ _

__“What did you just say?” He didn’t need the repetition, but he wanted it for confirmation’s sake. He need to confirm something very important._ _

__“I said you don’t know anything… sir.”_ _

__“That was not what you said.” Severus studied the boy’s open confusion for a tense moment, searching his expression for any signs of deception._ _

__He didn’t know, Severus thought. Potter was apparently wholly unaware of his own temporary change. Rather than simplifying the situation it only complicated it further._ _

__“Get out of my office Potter. You’ll finish your detention tomorrow.” The boy only hesitated for a second before quickly retreating from the irate Potion’s Master’s sight._ _

__*****_ _

__Harry was confused, but strangely at peace. His thoughts felt hazy, like a cotton gauze that kept slipping in and out of his grip. It floated about like a cloud on the wind when he spotted a light in the distance, a boat on the endless waves of grassy hills._ _

__A fire, he thought absently as he approached, some of the boys have probably been messing around again._ _

__He struggled with the keys, old arthritic hands shaking as they opened the door to the old Manor. His bad knee ached and protested as he climbed the stairs, but he forged on, determined to take care of the old house he’d spent most of his life serving in._ _

__It was at the top of the stairs that Harry began to hear voices, one small and meek, sniveling in the way that he’d always hated and another high and cold, not emotionless but instead angry in a way that he’d never heard before._ _

__“Perhaps another, Master. It doesn’t have to be him—“_ _

__“No!” He flinched at the intensity of the denial, the power behind such a quiet, breathy voice. Stepping closer he pressed his good ear into the wood of the door. “It must be him. I will accept no other.”_ _

__There was a sudden hissing and he flinched back at the sight of the largest snake he’d ever seen. It was right beneath him and he found himself staying very still in an effort to not draw its attention. Another voice had entered and Harry suddenly felt cold, so very cold and sad, but it was the kind of sadness that one felt when a stranger dies, a foreign kind of grief._ _

__“Well, well, it seems we have a visitor. Wormtail, show him inside!” Harry almost fell forwards when the door abruptly opened, as it was he merely stumbled into the room, wincing in pain as he landed on his weaker leg._ _

__“Who are you lot?” He asked, a sudden anger filling him. “I’ll have you know this is private property.”_ _

__He heard a patronizing chuckle from the room, and was annoyed to see that the man that had made it was covered in a strange cloak, facing away from his as he spoke._ _

__“I’m aware. It seems we’ll just have to take care of the witness then.” These men weren’t playing, he realized. Fear overwhelmed Harry’s sadness and he struggled to come up with some way out of the situation._ _

__“M-my wife’ll miss me. She knows I’m out here and she’ll be lookin’.” Harry wondered about that because he couldn’t recall having a wife. Regardless, the lie went unheeded as the figure chuckled once more._ _

__“You and I both know that you don’t have a wife. In fact, there won’t be anyone looking for you at all, Mr. Bryce.”_ _

__Frank Bryce’s blood ran cold and he stuttered out one more desperate bid for survival._ _

__“Why don’t you turn around and face me like a man.”_ _

__“I’m so much more than a man.”_ _

__Harry saw the rush of acidic green, heard his own screams fill the air, felt the wave of magic separate his soul from his body, but what he saw was far more chilling. A malformed babe, sitting in a chair, half covered by the black cloak was his last sight as he fell to the ground._ _

__Harry awoke with a gasp._ _


End file.
